


Some Tough Alien You Are...

by Anonymississippi



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Gooddoctor!Alex, Sick Fic, Terriblepatient!Astra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7797070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymississippi/pseuds/Anonymississippi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Astra blows out her powers during a freak desert thunderstorm and wakes up the next morning feeling feverish and achy. Thankfully, her not-so-useless human roommate is there to look after her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Tough Alien You Are...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snow_lily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snow_lily/gifts).



> This is utter fluff to balance the chapter's worth of angst I posted on snow_lily's birthday. Hope it makes up for any distress caused!

Astra feels weak.

Drool puddles pool on the cotton edge of the pillowcase. Sweat sticks to bunched-up sheets, signal of a night’s unrest. Returning to the apartment soaked, exhausted, and grumbling, she had tossed and turned in overheated dreams of burning, charred planets.

Her fingers feel like phantoms not fully attached to her form. She swipes. Perspiration on her forehead, her mouth parched like the worst days of imprisonment at Fort Rozz, that swollen, cracked feeling at the trunk of her tongue. She has never needed much rest since coming to this Earth and yet she has never felt more fatigued.

She rolls over and her head spins, blinking to focus on the mauve-slate walls and crisp, off-white curtains she had selected (with Alex’s help) at the beginning of her pseudo-house arrest. She inhales, expecting to meet the airy scent of laundry detergent but she can’t smell anything, her sensitive nose no longer able to distinguish between the most basic smells that have overloaded her olfactory region ever since she identified them as _Alexandra’s_.

“Astra, let’s go! You’re riding with me, aren’t you?”

Oh, there she is, Astra thinks.

Astra smiles in bed, her lids sliding shut.

_Alex._

Last night in an uncharacteristic desert downpour, Alex had emptied four clips into the side of a toxic, amorphous blob that had started absorbing tanks by the time Kara got on-site to help. The thing just wouldn’t _die_ , Alex had griped, because it drew power from the monsoon pounding alien and human alike. Astra’s laser vision had halted the massive alien globule’s creeping advances, but not until she, Kara, and a few flame throwers from the DEO’s “special” armory section combined their heated assault did the blob roast to a noxious puddle of steamy, tar-colored rot.

Astra had felt the dampness, felt the strain, and had finally fainted, smoke puffing from her eye creases like train smoke by a platform.

Astra has never fainted on this planet before.

She woke last night to rain smacking her face, fat, substantial drops soaking her brow and saturating her suit. “Astra, Astra?!” Alex yelled from above her, shining a penlight in her eyes, testing a heaviness in her limbs that Astra has not experienced since her sentencing at High Council Court. She’d fallen face-first into several inches of standing water and wondered if Alex had woken her in the traditional human way she’s seen many submerged victims rescued in films— _CDC_ or _CCR_ or something of that nature—but she was far too wet, cold, and spent to ruminate on that missed opportunity.

Astra has dreamed of Alex hovering over her multiple times (in far more compromising positions), but those fantasies are as ephemeral as her hopes for other Kryptonian survivors. Though Alex Danvers has been a professional guard and a surprisingly adequate roommate during this probationary period, the remarkable human has no reason to suspect her Kryptonian charge harbors a peculiar attraction towards her person. Astra herself cannot quite identify the origin of such fascination but Alexandra— _Alex,_ Astra thinks—is exemplary, so strikingly capable and intelligent compared to the majority of her race.

And ever since that one evening where Astra’s x-ray vision had wandered, when Alex had discarded her things and unloaded her gun, grunted her intentions then shuffled toward the shower in her tiredness, had shed clothing on the way to the hall right in front of Astra’s widening eyes… Astra had begun thinking of her human roommate in a different light.

And Astra is only Kryptonian. How could she resist Alex's physique of sculpted marble?

A physique that will happily take advantage of her powerlessness and pummel Astra into next week should she make Alex late for her morning shift.

Astra emits a gurgley sound as she rises from the bed and then immediately stumbles into the maple dresser against the wall. She rights herself, but wonders why there’s two of the silver-plated picture frame James had taken months ago of Kara and Astra, directly following their victory over Non and the rest of the Fort Rozz forces. She cannot recall having had another photo made, and certainly not buying another picture frame. Ever since the so-called ‘disaster’ with Alex’s credit card at a marvelous mercantile called Target, her roommate has kept careful watch on her spending habits. A space behind her eyes twinges like an arm twisted to breaking in a grappling maneuver. And then, a flash, sharp pain slicing and flaring deep within her skull, such discomfort that she raises a hand over her eyes and breathes, achingly, all-over-soreness turning the simple act of standing into an arduous physical feat.

“Al—Alex…” Astra tries, crossing the endless feet of the hallway toward the living area.

“I refuse to be late on paperwork day.”

Alex is moving so swiftly around the kitchen it makes Astra’s head spin. She grips the wall and leans against it, wondering if her legs have it in them to keep this dramatic stance upright for much longer.

“Everyone shows up half an hour past shift's start after late night missions, but it’s not like we get comp time until the reports are filed,” Alex grumbles, grabbing her to-go mug and shouldering the strap to her workbag. “And I know your powers are shot but that’s no reason—Astra!”

Alex blurs as she drops her things and comes hurtling towards her trembling body—almost at the exact same moment Astra’s legs give out.

“Astra!”

Astra wonders if this is what it looks like from the inside of the blob they were fighting in the early evening hours, if it jittered as it moved as she is currently, if a fine haze settled over its vision looking out from its translucent, jellied form.

“God, you’re burning up.”

“What are you… we’ll be late for... shift,” Astra mumbles.

“I’m taking you to the couch.”

“Where’s my…s-s-suit?”

“Probably in your room,” Alex grunts, and Astra feels her body thrown about like a grenade, so overheated she could explode at any moment. “—with your pants, which you seem to be lacking this morning.”

“No pants... sweating, Alex…”

Warm hands on her body—Alex’s hands, so sturdy, so sure and exact and trained—Astra likes Alex’s hands. Astra likes Alex in her lab coat, too, with those gloves, the goggles, tourniquets on a fellow agent’s arms to draw blood after an alien attack. Astra likes Alex on Saturday mornings with her mouth open, snoring thunderously, practically biting her pillow; and she likes Alex on game night, saying words that are vicious swears on this planet if ever she and Kara do not take the lead; and Astra likes Alex on quiet nights when they sit too close to each other on the couch and watch films or documentaries or the news, Alex attentively answering any questions that Astra might have concerning human culture.

Astra likes Alex here, carrying her dead-weight with muscles that stand to attention beneath the tight sleeves of her black DEO polo. Astra likes Alex with her eyes of wet Earth, her athlete’s frame, her evident concern for the trio of aliens who constantly keep her company.

Astra laughs.

“You’re obviously not alright,” Alex tells her, dragging her toward the couch.

Astra laughs again, fumbling around with her feet, readjusting her arms so that she no longer hangs limp is Alex’s hold, but can instead rest her head against Alex’s shoulder, her neck, so close to her beautiful, beautiful features. This close, Astra’s senses spike momentarily: Alex smells so _nice_ , like pomegranate and gunpowder and the laundry detergent she couldn’t place minutes previously. The tips of Alex’s hair tickle her nose, and Astra pulls away, inhales, and dives into the sleeve of her own t-shirt, sneezing violently. When she rights herself, Alex is in shock, whether from being unceremoniously sneezed upon or from the clinging, Astra cannot distinguish.

“Astra, you have to let go.”

Astra dives forward and giggles into Alex’s neck. “Make me.”

“What?” Alex asks, trying to unwrap Astra’s hold from behind her but oh, Alex doesn’t know of the time when Astra held an insurgent on the jungle floor of Jelson for twenty-nine hours, held him in an unrelenting grip until her team could arrive with a containment unit.

“Astra, get on the couch, come on—”

“You’re coming with me?”

“What are you talking about? You’re—”

Astra feels that wonderful hand on her forehead again, those fingers stroking the ridges near her cheek.

“Alex—”

“Your fever is through the roof, we’ve got to break it.”

“What is it from your films, Alex?” Astra asks, pulling her head from Alex’s shoulder. _Hot for you_ , Astra thinks, then giggles again, waiting for Alex to get in on the joke. Astra tries to right her focus, her eyes crossing and straining the further away she pulls from Alex—two Alexes. Oh, what she could do with two of them—

“Astra, Astra come on, you’re delirious.”

“Your… your skin is so soft,” Astra tells her.

“Does your head hurt?” Alex asks, but Astra can’t think of anything besides Alex in her arms, finally, finally close enough to hold or well, _be_ held, by this fascinating human woman.

“Astra!”

“Yes,” Astra says, and her tongue slips out as her lips press into Alex’s neck.

“Oh my god,” Alex says, and suddenly they’re flying, they’re floating, Astra tasting that skin for a blissful second and then—

_Oooooof._ More pain, less achy, just… cumbersome.

Astra stares above her and there’s Alex, or at least her outline, levitating like twinkling stars on those charged evenings they spend together, standing on Alex’s balcony, occasionally talking, more often not, Alex sipping a beer while they stare at the cityscape.

“Astra, god, Astra—”

“Not this dream again,” Astra blinks, covering her face with her hand. That dream with her _name_ like that, with Alex on top of her… “Rao, forgive me.”

“Dream?” Alex asks, and Astra feels fingers weaving through her hair. “What dream?”

“Al… Alex…”

“Unless Rao has a crazy rule against occasional Kryptonian influenza, I don’t think you need any forgiveness.”

She wishes she could enjoy this, Alex and her pleasant weight, settled above her body. And she knows, somewhere in her conscious, regular thought, that Alex’s lower body must be aligned with hers, that those legs that run through obstacle courses and hurdle over terrain and crouch in the training room, Rao, those legs are on _top_ of her and Astra can’t even feel it.

“In...flu—in a what?” Astra asks.

“That’s what happens when your antibodies can't fight for crap and you catch a chill,” Alex says. “Your fever spikes, your head, your chest hurts. I bet your immune system is shot to hell considering you haven’t blown your powers since getting here. Kara broke her arm the first time and nearly caught the common cold.”

“This is… common?” Astra asks, her body seizing in shivers. “How do you weaklings _survive_?”

“Yeah, well, some tough alien you are,” Alex says, moving above her.

“Wait!” Astra says, clutching at Alex’s back. “You’re warm…”

“And you’re sweating,” Alex counters. “We want to break your fever, but preferably not with me on top of you.”

“Oh, I always wanted you on top, Alex.”

Alex stiffens. “What?!”

“What? Alex,” Astra shivers, blinks, reaches blindly, wonders if she pokes the poor woman in the eye with her questing fingers. “You’re beautiful.”

“You’re delirious.”

“Nooooo,” Astra says, “I’ve never been m-more c-c-cer-certain.”

“You’re shivering, and you’ve nearly got your finger up my nose. How many of me do you see?”

“Not enough?”

“You’re an indecent flirt when you’re out of it, you know,” Alex tells her, shifting again.

Astra feels the weight leave her now and she turns over, huddles up, brings her knees into her body and shakes. She hears Alex behind her, moving in and out, back and forth, up and down, she guesses, and then the tap turned, a different tap-tap on her phone, and a one-sided conversation that consists of Alex calling into the DEO.

“—can just e-mail me the paperwork,” Alex says, or at least, that’s what Astra _thinks_ Alex says. “Yeah, she’s gone, Vasquez. I can’t figure out if she’s trying to die on me or if she’s trying to sleep with me… No, it’s fine, I’ll tell you about it this afternoon. I’ll get Kara to cover for me after lunch.”

Centuries pass, but then Astra feels something cool and soggy on her forehead.

“Okay, pathetic patient,” Astra hears above her. Something tugs Astra's arm and she tries to punch with her free hand, only to end up half-collapsed on a humanoid torso.

“Astra, seriously!”

“Hmmm?”

“Lean up, I’ve got some pillows. And don’t attack me.”

“Very well,” Astra replies. “Weak… h-h-human.”

“Hey, hey.” Astra feels her head tilted up. “Munch on this.”

“I don’t want it,” Astra complains, slumping back down on the couch and, oh, well that’s rather helpful, pillows behind her back and the cool cloth pressed against her cheek. Someone pressing the cloth against her neck, oh, _so cool..._ back to her forehead—but she can't stop shaking.

“It’s just ice chips,” Alex, _oh_ , Alex is talking to her now. “You’re going to take these pills, and then I’m going to get you a soft blanket. And another compress.”

Astra feels lightly sweetened capsules pressed against her gums. A surge of water… she swallows. Pressure on her legs. Light, though. Then something else, no heavier than a pillow. All of these actions seem to happen out of order. The itchy blanket she hates. The one that rubs against her and shocks with static. A towel, wet and cool despite her shivering… did Alex slide her hands along her legs? Place the cloth behind her knee? On her abdomen? Her wrist? The inside of her elbow? Rub tender comforts with a soaked, cool cloth at her forehead?

Humans are so strange…

“Astra?”

“Hmph?”

“Astra, I’m going to stay with you, okay? Kara’s going to swing by after lunch so I can take the paperwork in, but right now I need to run and get some Gatorade from the bodega. If this really is viral I’ll probably be down with it in no time, too, and these reports won't file themselves.”

Fingers at her brow again. Her head feels wet from the cloth, from the sweat. She rolls over into her pillow and hears murmuring over her shoulder.

“God, you are beautiful when you’re useless.”

Astra doesn’t register much for the next six hours.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“There she is!”

Astra turns down the volume on the television and sits up, peering over the back of the couch. When she sees Alexandra walking in with a sack of something that looks like takeout, she pauses the movie. Selecting a title like _The Martian_ from Alexandra’s library had gotten her hopes up, but instead of the cultural documentary she’d been hoping for, she’d been subjected to over an hour of rudimentary survival skills and primitive science.

“How’s my sick alien roommate?” Alex teases, chucking her workbag to the ground and plopping the armful of takeout on the counter top.

“I feel as though I’ve been crushed by the Leviathan,” Astra laments, the dregs of her coherency back now that her fever’s broken.

“Is that a space thing?”

“You humans know nothing of your own planet,” Astra gripes.

“Was Kara a decent nursemaid?” Alex asks, unloading three plastic containers and then tossing the paper sack into the recycling bin (upgraded from a trashcan per Astra’s request). “Where is she?”

“She got a call from her cat about an hour and a half ago,” Astra remarks. “I was lucid by then and insisted she leave.”

“It’s a shame she didn’t record you,” Alex smirks, removing a lid and rummaging in a spoon for a drawer… or perhaps a drawer for a spoon. Things haven’t quite settled in Astra’s head just yet. “I know you’re probably weak, and that medicine kills your appetite.”

“I really don’t think I could eat anything, Alexandra.”

“Not even Miso soup from Takumi’s?” Alex smiles.

“Soup?” Astra perks up, pulling her legs beneath her, making room for Alex at the end of the couch.

“And crackers, if you’re up for it. But you don’t want anything harsher than that on an empty stomach full of drugs. The flu sucks,” Alex says, settling beside her, spoon in hand. She scoots closer to Astra's sore lower half and helps her rearrange the blanket, carefully removing the top and dipping the spoon into the steaming liquid. “Come on, open up.”

“I’m strong enough to feed myself,” Astra grumbles, sloshing a bit of the soup from the container as she snatches it from Alex.

“Hey!”

Astra drops the spoon into the bowl and it splashes against her face. Alex sighs, takes a paper napkin, and wipes carefully against Astra's cheek. Mortification isn't a powerful enough word, but it's close to what Astra feels.

“My apologies,” she says, her gaze cast down toward the yellow soup.

And to her credit, Astra does sound sincere. But flashes of the morning are returning in sporadic fashion, and her shame and embarrassment are manifesting in frustrated grumpiness. “Truly, Alexandra. I simply hate feeling like an invalid.”

“Well, we’ll grant you one bad day considering Kryptonians were immune to what? Everything on your planet?”

“The Codex assured genetic perfection; this extends to genes that could combat disease, antibodies and antigens bred through years of scientific study so that Kryptonians were not susceptible to illness,” Astra explains, mouthing at a spoonful of hot, salty soup. “Uhmmm, this is wonderful, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Alex offers a half smile, pulling her feet up underneath her body on the couch.

Astra’s nearly half-way through the pint of soup when Alex speaks again.

“So are we going to address the fact that you want to have super hot sex with me or what?”

Astra’s hand flies over her lips so she doesn’t spat her mouthful of soup all over Alex. She gulps, too quickly, and the soup sears her esophagus as it travels down to her churning gut.

“Wha—what?” Astra says, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

“It’s not exactly a drunken confession, but you weren’t really in control of your faculties this morning.”

“Which means you should disregard _everything_ I said,” Astra retorts, staring purposefully at her spoon, wondering if she could stab the handle down into her ear canal so she wouldn't have to listen to how terribly forward she was. “I was not myself.”

“Pity,” Alex says, and Astra’s still far enough gone that it takes her a moment to register the implication there.

She looks up from her soup, spoon handle stuck out of her mouth, and tilts her head at Alex. She drops the spoon back into the soup and studies the special agent, her blank expression even more difficult to read considering Astra’s illness. “I’m sorry… pity?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Alex shrugs. “You’re not terrible once you get past the elitist alien mentality.”

“That is not a compliment.”

“Imagining me on top is.” Alex winks.

“My system was _compromised_ , Agent Danvers!”

“So you want to do this with titles, General?” Now she's _smirking_ , that pompous, overconfident little human.

“I would very much like for you to leave me to my soup, which I appreciate far more than your ill-attempts at humor,” Astra scoffs, twisting under her blanket, feeling gross, unattractive, humiliated, and all-around crummy for a being who is quite accustomed to feeling none of those things.

“Astra,” Alex says, and Astra can feel a slight nudge at her foot through the piles of blankets on her lower half. She rises with a sigh, pointing at the pile of sick supplies littering the coffee table. “Have you taken your pills yet?”

“Which ones?”

“Fever reducers, and there’s a low-dose pain killer in there," Alex says, retreating to the kitchen. "That’s the bottle with the blue sticker on it.”

Astra reaches toward the coffee table and fights with a cap labeled “child-proof.”

“Ridiculous,” Astra huffs, before finally getting the hang of the push-and-twist top.

“Had a lot of water? Gatorade for electrolytes?”

“Yes,” Astra gripes. “Though it was no pleasantry asking my niece to assist me on my way to your restroom. As you can likely imagine, I’m having a difficult time with this.”

“Looks like you’ve got your strength back well enough,” Alex says from the sink, finding a towel and wetting it under the faucet. Astra watches as she wrings it out and folds it carefully, padding back over to Astra’s helpless form. She sits and begins wiping at Astra’s forehead, which Astra gratefully accepts. The coolness from the rag seems to ease the tension from moments ago.

“Why are you being so… so nice to me? I have caused you so much unnecessary work.”

“Astra,” Alex shakes her head, placing the cool cloth against her cheek now, then the other side of her head next to her temple. “I’d never leave you to fight this alone. You’ve never been sick before.”

“I can’t fathom how you humans endure this torture,” Astra says, her throat clogged, her voice dipped an octave lower than she normally speaks. “I have never felt so weak.”

“Yeah, flu season is horrendous—”

“There’s a season for this?” Astra balks, groaning into the rag on her face. Alex shifts closer and wipes her matted hair from the sticky sweat at her neck. She can just see the tips of the white streak out of the corner of her eye, how Alex curls her finger there, studying it closely.

“We’ve got flu shots, and it’s uncommon for people to get this once every year," Alex explains. "Every couple of years though, every other if you’re really unlucky, but it tends to work itself out in a week or so.”

“I have to feel like this for a week?”

“Likely not so long. Your powers should come back soon enough,” Alex says, untangling her finger from Astra's hair. “Then you’ll be rid of this for good.”

“Alex…” Astra mutters, falling sideways against the back of the couch, sandwiching Alex’s hand and the rag between her hot cheek and the cushion. She turns into the touch, but it just feels so _cool_. “I’m sorry for my earlier behavior.”

“It’s alright,” Alex says easily. “I’m no sunshine daisy when I’m sick, either.”

“You’re no sunshine daisy when you’re well.”

“Very true,” Alex says, smiling at her. “Can I have my hand back?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry,” Astra moves up and Alex scoots closer, near enough that she has to pull Astra’s legs over her lap to get a good angle at her face.

“When you feel better… would you like to go get a drink?” Alex asks, focusing her compress-application on Astra’s chin.

“I’ve had so much to drink today replenishing fluids, I don’t think I could—”

“Astra,” Alex stops, grabs her chin with a gentle thumb and forefinger, and holds eye contact for a long moment. “When you are well, powers or no powers, I would very much like to come home, change into nice clothes, and take you somewhere to spend time with you in a non-work, non-roommate, non-alien attack or Kara-involved setting. Just you and me and drinks, or food or music or… well, what we do here most nights just not… here.”

“I am unsure why we would need to leave the apartment to do any of those things,” Astra answers, confused.

“… we don’t kiss in the apartment,” Alex answers, and Astra can’t tell if it’s the illness, or if Alex has moved closer while she’s been wiping her face with the rag.

“No…” Astra answers. “We do not do that.”

“But that’s not… objectionable, right?”

“Far from it,” Astra answers. “I find that prospect quite…appealing.”

Alex’s finger runs over her cheek and she cups her jaw, her face crowding Astra’s, but there’s the tickle in the back of her throat, surging forward, _not now not now_ Rao _please_ —

Astra weakly shoves Alex backward and reaches for the pile of tissues on the table, somehow able to grab a handful before the dreadful sneeze comes hurtling out of her nostrils like some nasal geyser. She covers it all, but still feels more than unappealing, wiping at disgusting fluids leaking out of orifices that fluids should most certainly _not_ leak out of, especially when an attractive agent is mere inches from her lips.

Human illnesses are thoroughly humiliating.

“I’m sorry,” Astra murmurs, blowing into a clean tissue and discarding it into a waste bin three-quarters of the way full with tissues and plastic bottles. She’ll sort through it for recycling later.

“You’re fine,” Alex pats her leg, smiling serenely as she stands. “Thanks for not sneezing on me.”

“It was the least I could do for your generous care,” Astra returns. “Thank you, Alex.”

“You’re welcome. I’m going to go eat my dinner but… do you want help making it to the bed?”

“I’d prefer to sleep here. If I grow restless this evening it will be nice to watch a film. Though perhaps not this garbage.”

“That’s supposed to be pretty good,” Alex replies, catching a glimpse of the red planet on screen. “Though J’onn might have something to say about its accuracy. But don't stay up all night. You should sleep, rest. I'd... like to pick up where we were a moment ago once you're feeling better.”

“Kara says this _flu_ is highly contagious,” Astra sniffs against the heavy pressure in her sinuses, wheezing against her compressed lungs.

“Yeah?”

“I'd never want you to feel this way.”

“Oh,” Alex softens and her eyes shine with disbelief. It's one of those rare, vulnerable moments that made Astra gravitate toward Alex in the beginning, made her happy to know the woman behind the armor. "Maybe I won't catch it," Alex finally answers, shrugging a shoulder.

“I’ve sneezed all over you,” Astra groans, flopping against the arm rest.

“I’m less concerned with the sneezing than the fact that you licked my neck.”

Astra jolts back up. “I did what?!”

“Rest, Astra,” Alex chides her. “And don’t worry about me, at least not now. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“You should make a list of things for me to have on hand while your system’s not compromised.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I’m to care for you in this manner should you contract this… _terror_ , I will want to be properly equipped.”

Alex pauses at her counter, staring over her stir-fry at Astra on the couch. “That’s… really nice of you.”

“Hmmm,” Astra says, tossing back a gulp of foul medication. She places the cap aside, nibbles the edge of a cracker, then sips quietly at her water while Alexandra begins eating at the counter behind her.

After some easy silence, Astra hears Alex ask from the kitchen:

“What if I lick your neck?”

Astra smirks in her feverish haze.

“Depends on the circumstances,” she mumbles, smiling into her mucus-stained pillow.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> These two, y'all...


End file.
